


The House is Alive and it's Hungry

by dorking



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Tragedy, marriage as a death pact, no mystery here they literally die at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorking/pseuds/dorking
Summary: Only Jon can see the front door, and he Knows that should he leave he will not be able to return. So he finds another way out.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	The House is Alive and it's Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry if this is super cheesy or stupid :)!!  
> \- edited for clarity, grammar, and little bit of spice.

Jon doesn't hear Martin the first time.

He's not really busy, how can he be when they've been holed up inside with limited resources for so long now? Still, he leafs through one of the books he grabbed while packing for their trip to the safe-house. He's not reading the book so much as he is feeling the paper between his fingers, gently smoothing the corners back and forth, slowly flipping the pages and running his hand down the spine. Jon is terribly bored, but that's better than his current alternatives. Martin's voice barely registers the second time. Jon's eyes go blurry with disinterest as he scowls down at the book. He is loathe to re-read anything. This quirk of personality has stuck with him since childhood, and proved to be an annoying hurdle once he began his academic career. Deep analysis requires at least more than one read through a text - Jon knows this and justifies his stubbornness by reminding himself that he didn't major in literature or writing. It certainly made a few classes that required lengthy research papers quite difficult. He recalls that part of his studies with little warmth-

"Jon!"

Jon looks up seeing Martin paled and nervous "Martin? What's the matter?"

Martin's hand is twitching slightly against the wood of the front door, he is on the edge of frantic. "Jon...Jon where has the front door gone? Am I losing it, it was here wasn't it?" Martin asks, shakily. Jon parts his lips slightly as the tension in his face increases "What do you mean?" he responds. Putting his book down he shifts on the couch with a confused quirk in his brow. Jon is sure he can see the door Martin is standing in front of. It's there, and has been for the entire length of their stay, present with all of its utter mundanity.

"I can't...I can't see it anymore. Can you?", the question hangs in the air. Jon isn't sure how to answer, so instead he stands from his seat and walks over to Martin. Gently resting one hand on Martin's shoulder, Jon lifts the other to the door that supposedly isn't there. Is this some trick? Something the Spiral has conjured up to play with them? No. He places his hand flat down, feeling the strange warmth and pliancy of the wood. The Knowing comes at him in a shock. Suddenly the gravity of the situation is so clear and painful in his mind he snaps his hand back as if it had touched a flame. Jon Knows. He Knows that this cabin has dulled his senses, blurred time insidiously and cultivated his complacency. He Knows that should he open this door and leave, he cannot go back inside. He Knows that the only reason he can do so is because he is different from Martin. That he is _of this place_ , of the Eye which looks upon him with such fondness. He Knows that Martin will never be able to follow him now. That he, The Archivist, has dwelled too long. That this is his punishment. He Knows that Martin is doomed to...that he doomed Martin to-

"We'll find another way out," Jon says weakly, his hand slipping down Martin's chest and curling into a fist. "That...isn't really an answer," Martin quakes out half laughing, hopeful in his growing discomfort. Jon looks up at Martin. He opens and closes his mouth, parsing all he Knows for something to say. Something to comfort this person who means everything to him. But Martin isn't looking to be comforted.

"...yes. Yes I still see it."

Martin emits a fearful keen. Every note of it bleeds through Jon like hot acid.

The sky outside rumbles, blinking open to weep fat tears of ecstasy.

***

Martin's eyes are raw.

The windows will not open. Not even for Jon.

They've wasted their energy throwing what furniture they can against the unyielding glass, and now they sit slumped on the floor breathing heavily. Martin wipes the sweat from his forehead and places his face between his knees. "I don't want to d-" 

"Don't. Don't say it Martin," Jon pleads, clenching his eyes shut tight as the back of his head rests on the wall. Martin lets out a hard sigh, "I just...not here y'know. Not now, not..." he trails off with a soft sob, guilty and overcome with his selfishness.

_Not alone._

But Jon would not leave him alone. Contractual bonds aside (are they still bound to The Archives that way? Jon wonders), he needs Martin like a lifeline that keeps him tethered to last bits of himself he still recognizes. The familiar parts of himself he simply _knows_. But Jon also Knows. He Knows that he'll see Martin fall apart. He can't See the future but Jon can See the fracture, the weight of Martin's reality, waiting to burst his sanity open like a dam and drown all that he was. All that they are, and were, and could be. It's a crack the size of a crevasse split down the middle of their time. Their love.

"You should sleep, Martin. We'll try something else tomorrow," Jon says as reassuringly as he can. Even though he Knows their attempts will be futile. "Sleep won't help anything, will it?" answers Martin, the smile on his lips distant and scornful. Jon doesn't hesitate, barely a breath "No. It won't." He looks at Martin now, who seems to be somewhat more composed. Still, there is a thick nagging feeling of grief permeating the air.

"There has to be something. A way, any way. Another door?" Martin wonders aloud. "The back door...Christ. Jon, was there ever a back door?" Martin can't remember. The cabin makes his head so terribly foggy if he tries to think about it too much. Jon lets out a hoarse laugh in resignation "Yes, there was. But not anymore. I'm sorry Martin," he apologizes so sincerely, as though he controls the cabins shifting. As though merely thinking about the existence of the back door has erased it from reality. Which Jon Knows to be the truth of the matter. Martin exhales through his nose and there is a brief pause between them. Hesitantly, "...Helen? What about Helen, surely she knows where we are?" Martin asks.

"The Spiral...she does, of course," Jon nods "But I don't...I don't know how she'd reach us. If she can get inside, or frankly if she cares to." Jon thinks that he hears a soft whimper before Martin responds "We'll wait for her then. Maybe she'll come, she's rescued you before."

"Maybe," Jon reaches for Martin's hand and grips it tightly, managing a weak smile. Martin smiles back but it doesn't reach his eyes, which look dulled and worn like unpolished bronze. "Why is this happening Jon? Why now?" Martin rasps. Jon has to stop himself from turning away, "This place is hungry Martin...it's not... _right_. It wants to feed on us, eat us...digest us." Martin stares into Jon for a moment before asking "Not _us_ though, is it?" Jon relents to his shame, breaking their gaze and hanging his head into his shoulder.

The silence between them is small and frail, like a thin bone ready to snap.

***

Time passes, possibly.

***

"Make me see it, please."

Jon stiffens, blinking in shock "Martin...that...I don't think..."

"Please Jon. Please try. You can do that can't you? Like Elias did? Make me see the door. You _Know_ the door is there so please..." Martin begs.

Jon recoils at Martin's desperation, biting his lip. He wants so badly to say _No_. _No, it's a bad idea_ , that he isn't able to do so. But Jon also feels an insatiable thirst to try. To See how it would feel for both them. Martin doesn't know it but his fearful begging is _tempting_ Jon. There would be power and knowledge gained in the exercise. Jon nearly salivates in his own curious musings. He feels sick with himself.

"Okay," Jon leans forward, placing his hand on Martin's soft round cheek, caressing it with his thumb. Removing Martin's glasses and setting them on the table in front of the couch, he touches their foreheads together as tenderly as he can. Jon opens his mind, and begins to flow his Knowing ever so gently into Martin. He sees the door, the certainty of its existence and realness. The door is there. The door is tangible. Jon can open the door, of course. It would be simple, the knob is firm and cold in his hand as he turns it- so easy really -

Martin lets out a shriek, pushing Jon away violently and falling to the floor. Jon immediately drops hard on his knees, grasping Martin by the arms "Martin!" He sees Martin's eyes roll back in his head as he becomes limp in Jon's hands. 

Martin's breaths are shallow, and Jon understands what impossible truth he attempted to burden upon Martin's mind. He feels little, but certainly _some_ satisfaction in Knowing the results of this experiment.

Jon wretches involuntarily, bile stinging all the way up his throat.

***

The walls close in slowly on Martin. The door inches closer to Jon.

***

"Martin, please! Please open the door!" Jon slams himself fruitlessly against the bathroom once more before falling to his knees. He's never thought much about his appearance or been self-conscious of his thin frame, but now he so deeply regrets choosing the path of academia as an excuse to avoid manual exercise. Although in hindsight, working at The Institute ended up being more physically demanding than he thought possible.

"I told you. Leave Jon," Martin responds with a muffled chill. "You can leave, so please just...go on. I'm not coming out. I know you _want_ to leave, right?" he snipes with a dark laugh

Jon pounds his fist weakly on the painted wood, "You're not thinking right Martin, this is stupid, open the fucking door." _You're acting like damn child_ Jon wants to shout, scream really, but he bites his tongue. He's never been a diplomat but _hell_ , he'll try for Martin. "Fine, yes of course some of me _wants_ to leave. Every part of The Archivist wants to leave and See and Feel and Know. But it's not all of me, that's not _my_ own choice Martin. If I go out there without you...I'll lose myself. I know it...I'll just..." Jon chokes harshly "I'll go crawling back to The Archives...back to... _him._ " _And God knows_ , Jon thinks, _what could happen if that comes to pass_. "I may not die, but dammit Martin it will be so...much... _worse_ than that," raw emotion scrapes itself up and out of his throat like steel wool, but Jon does not relent " _I_ can't leave you. Me. Jonathan Sims. Please understand...I've already said it. I need you." He runs a hand through the outgrown strands of his hair, feeling the sweat from his scalp coat his fingers.

Audible shuffling comes from beyond the door, and the lock releases.

Jon sighs in relief, awkwardly turning the knob to see the face he loves most in this world.

***

Their bed feels too soft and too welcoming.

"I'm sorry about earlier Jon. I feel...just...really stupid," Martin sighs, laughing cruelly at himself and playing with the hem of Jon's shirt. He runs his thumbs over the seams, stretching the fabric. Humiliation pours out of Martin like a thick delicious fog that Jon suppresses the urge to savour. Both of them avoid eye contact. Jon exhales resolutely "Don't worry about it," he doesn't say it out loud but Martin could commit a variety of transgressions that Jon would excuse. Locking himself inside the bathroom in a fit of despair hardly ranks at all. Jon is just happy to be back in Martin's arms, safe, sound, warm, and surrounded with a familiar comforting embrace.

"What am I going to do Jon?' Martin asks, the quiver in his voice making his sorrow so palpable Jon can't help but taste it this time. He Feels that fear, the uncertainty. The Eye drinks it down with such delight Jon could moan in its elation. He feels so dirty - feeding off of Martin like this without him knowing, without his consent. Jon thinks of that wretched door, what he would be in the realm on the other side. The Archivist, The Pupil, The Moth, The Pilgrim, filling the Watcher - his cornea, his iris, his retina, the nerve that runs through Jon's very purpose in this new and terrible world that calls to him so sweetly-

"Jon? You're shaking."

Jon gasps for air, coming back to himself and Knowing what he has to do, "Sorry. I'm so sorry Martin," he nearly sobs.

Martin doesn't ask why Jon apologizes, instead stroking his hand through Jon's hair as reassuringly as he can. Running his thumbs over Jon's pock-marked face.

"Listen Martin, I won't make you See anything...but...can I make you Feel something? Something of mine?" asks Jon. There is a constant dim glow of green trickling from the curtains. It is darker now, but still Jon sees Martin's hesitant restrained nod, clearly recalling their earlier attempt. Softly, Jon cups Martin's face and lets all he loves about Martin flow out of him. From the first time he saw Martin, saw him really as a person - began to love him, to the time Jon ran for him in a frantic attempt to locate him in The Lonely. So gentle in his efforts, Jon pushes these feelings - the ones he can't express in their exactness- into Martin. Jon shares, lets them See, the only way out of this place together. Thin tears run down Martin's cheeks.

They lay in silence for a while longer, the gravity of their escape apparent. Martin doesn't want to die. He doesn't want Jon to die, he wants Jon real and solid forever. He wants to hold onto Jon, to keep their time tightly wrapped like a gift. But the door, that nagging _thing_ will be his descent into madness, and the cabin will only revel in the consumption of his mind. He sighs.

"Martin, would you marry me?" Jon asks, placing a kiss on Martin's ring finger, the terms of their union crushing his heart.

"Yes...oh...Jon," Martin whines, accepting with no delay. Clasping Jon's wrists in his hands, Martin pins him down without much force. Their teeth clash in a frenzied kiss, Jon opening his mouth for Martin pliantly. The men scramble to ground themselves in each other.

Martin's hands leave Jon's wrists and travel down the sharp scarred outline of his torso. Hooking his thumbs, Martin lifts Jon's shirt with no resistance. Jon Feels the mix of doubt, desperation, agony, and lust swirling inside Martin's thoughts when he asks "Jon...can I?" running his thumbs over his nipples - Jon blushes and squirms shyly, Martin's hands falling greedily down Jon's remaining ribs to the band of his pants. Jon Knows what Martin desires from him.

"Can I...leave them on, please?" Jon asks.

Martin exhales "I've seen you naked before?" - but Jon shrugs stiffly "It's just...different." Martin smiles at Jon with an aching love, "Of course". Taking Jon's ankles into one hand Martin bends him in half, sliding out of his own pants and stroking his thick cock until it’s fully hard, coating it with precome. It's then he slips it in between Jon's thighs, thrusting. Jon gasps softly, his breath hitching. There is an intensity in Martin's gaze that Jon cannot quite catalogue. It's an absolute concoction of love, adoration, guilt, and sadness. Martin pushes Jon's thighs tight and close, caressing the marked skin, folding them further so he can kiss hotly into Jon's mouth.

"Do you, Jonathan Sims, take me to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold?"

"Martin Blackwood, I take you to be my wedded husband- I vow-" Jon whimpers despite himself, his cock rubbing on his legs through the fabric " - to love you and care for you so long as we both shall live-"

Martin moans, his thrusts increasingly erratic - enjoying how the soft skin of Jon's thighs feels so right for him. How the flush of his skin blooms from his cheeks down to his neck and chest. How his hands lay open by his face, the sheets gripped loosely between his fingers. The way Jon looks submitted sweetly below him, where Jon belongs more than anywhere else, he thinks. He's wanted that for so long. Jon, just _Jon_. Martin spills his come over Jon's stomach in thick ropes.

"Till death"

"Until death, yes" Jon pants, half-hard from the friction.

"Do you want-"

"No...I'll..." and Jon slips his shorts off himself - may as well - and onto the crown of his cock, stroking until he comes into the fabric with an aborted groan.

***

When Martin loses himself in the cabin, they know.

***

"It's going to hurt, isn't it?" 

Jon sits on the edge of the bed curling his fingers into the sheets, knuckles straining his dark skin "Not physically, no."

Martin doesn't need to tell Jon that he is afraid, how scared he is to do this. That he loves him. Jon swallows thickly, not sure if it will work but still he turns his gaze and bores into Martin, compelling him "Sleep, Martin."

Drowsily Martin nods "Okay," and shuts his eyes, producing a placid smile and relaxing into the pillow. Jon exhales, pulling away from Martin as he hears those precious breaths even out into sleep. Jon stands and strides over to the window, taking the maroon curtain in his hand to pull it aside. He looks up into the Eye above the earth and into himself. Yes, he feels the power to do this. He can. Clutching the fabric, hands trembling so badly he can barely hold on, Jon shifts the sky and he Beholds Martin.

Martin wails terribly in his slumber, his body going stiff and convulsing as nightmares - The Fears- strike into him unrelenting. Jon lets out an awful cry, crumpling to the floor and he Sees it all. No, no. It's so wrong for Martin.

So right for Jon.

The Archivist gluts himself on the feast of disgusting horrors he's unleashed. He tries to end it, pulling frantically at his hair - _stop it please_ \- but the Eye Looks and Looks and Looks and Drinks it all in. They devour Martin's exquisite dread - draining his life from his body and mind. The Eye claims all of Martin, spare his heart.

Jonah Calls now, benevolently - _Yes Jon, it was the best thing for him really. A mercy. Now come on, don't be stubborn. There is nothing left in that cabin for you. The Archives await their dear Archivist._

"Never. Never," Jon weeps in defiance.

 _Yes._ Yes, he aches to answer that Call. But he promised Martin. Clinging to the unbroken parts of himself, Jon Looks inward to that portal in his mind which holds back an ocean.

Jonah pleads _\- Don't be a fool Jon. You're meant for so much more. Come now. Archivist._

"Stop," Jon growls pressing his forehead into the planks of the floor.

_Archivist_

He thinks of Martin - all soft and tender for him. Cozy hugs. Warm mugs of tea, silly jokes. Blue jumpers, poetry. Brown eyes, gentle fingers.

_Archivist_

He's there now, turning the key and unlocking the wave of Knowledge that crashes over him in a rush of total chaos. Jon swims, choking and gorging himself until he starts to drown. Finally he feels his mind fill to the brim, pushing in on him on all sides, bursting in a dizzying vertigo of words and sights, and sounds, and smells, and fears - Knowledge pouring out of his eyes cascading down his cheeks.

The sky rips open in its pain, tears raining mournfully down to the earth.

Jon goes limp, finally relieved of his duties.


End file.
